On an impulse irresistible, Gilian followed at a discreet distance, keeping on the verges of the grass beside the road, so that his footsteps might not betray him. All the night was tenantless but for themselves and some birds that called dolefully in the woods. The river, broadened by the burns on either hand that joined it, grew soon to a rapid and tumultuous current washing round the rushy bends, and the Dhu Loch when they came to it had a ripple on its shore, so that they were at the bridge and yet the one who led was not aware that he was followed. He leaned upon the crenelated parapet and hummed a strain of song as Gilian came up to him with a swinging step, now on the footway. Young Islay started at this approach without warning, but he was not afraid. He peered into Gilian’s face when he had come up to him. “Oh, you!” said he. “I got quite a start, I thought at first it was Drimmin dorran’s ghost.” This, laughingly, of a shade with a reputation for haunting these evening solitudes. “You’re late on the road?” he went on curiously. “No later than yourself,” answered Gilian, vaguely grieving to find that this was the substance of his shadow on the blind and the audience for Miss Nan’s entertainment. “Oh! I was--I was on a visit,” said Young Islay. He went closer up to Gilian and added eagerly, as one glad to unbosom, “Man! did you ever hear--did you ever hear Miss Nan sing?” “Long ago,” said Gilian; “it’s an old story.” “Lucky man!” said Young Islay enviously, “to be here so long to listen when I was far away.” “She was away herself a good deal,” said Gilian, “but when we heard her we quite appreciated our opportunities, I assure you.” “Did you, faith?” said Young Islay, with a jealous tone. “You seem,” he went on, “to have made very little use of them. I wonder where the eyes of you could be. I never saw her, really, till an hour or two ago. I never heard her sing before, but yet, some way----” He hesitated in embarrassment. Gilian made no answer. He felt it the most natural thing in the world that any one seeing and hearing Nan should appreciate herself and her singing. There was no harm in that. The night was solemn with the continual cry of the owls that abound in the woody shoulder of Duntorvil; a sweet balmy influence loaded the air, stars gathered in patches between drifts of cloud. For some distance the young men walked together silent, till Young Islay spoke.